Original version of the tale:
Troilus, a young Trojan Prince son of King Priam stated in Homers Iliad and in the lost epic of Cypria, Troilus was a young boy, a prophecy stated that Troy would not fall if Troilus reached the age of twenty. To ensure the fall of Troy Achilles ambushed him at a fountain outside the city, Troilus tried to escape but was brutally murdered on the alter of Apollo.
Retellings:
In several versions of the tale Troilus is considered the son of the god Apollo, the most notable retelling are Apollodorus and a rewriting by a Byzantine scholar by John Tzetzes. In these sources Troilus is said to have unnaturally great beauty, in these versions Achilles murder of Troilus becomes a personal confrontation of the God, later giving Apollo a reason to specifically guide the arrow from Paris' bow, to Achilles heel. (these are retelling of the tale, which specifically inspired my image of Troilus, to resemble Apollo, though I am aware they are retellings and not the original tale).
Christa Wolf:
My personal favorite retelling of the Iliad is Christa Wolf's 1983 novel Cassandra, where the Trojan war is reimagined through a feminist and political lens, where the treatment of the Trojan women leaves nothing to the imagination and shows the appalling truth of what war entails for those who are to vulnerable to defend themselves, who are the losers of the war and are women during war times.
Wolf's retelling of the tail is probably one of the most powerful reimaginations of the Trojan war, and the description of Troilus' death is haunting, it completely flips the heroic lens Achilles is normally seen through and possibly gives a very strong and more real view of him from the Trojan side. (though once again I am aware it is a retelling, it is a book that left a very large impact)
The murder of Troilus is highly disturbing in this retelling as he is portrayed as one of Cassandra's favorite brothers, giving the reader a higher affection in turn for his character.
Despite possibly and arguably being a very opinionated retelling it is probably my favorite ones as it brings a real and less mythological aspect to the Iliad, despite casing a villainous shadow over the Greek soldiers, it gives a very real, diary like side of the story from a Trojan point of view.
EXTRACT FROM THE NOVEL: TW< GRAPHIC VIOLENCE:
" my heart began to pound. Troilus stood his ground, faced his opponent, fount. He fought by rules, as he had been taught was the to fight between high-born men. He adhered faithfully to the rules of athletic contests in which he had excelled since childhood. Troilus! I was trembling. I knew ahead of time each step he would take, each turn of his head, each design he would trace with his body. But Achilleas. Achilles the brute did bot respond to the boy's offer. Perhaps he did not understand it. Achilles raised his sword high above his head, gripping it with both hands , and let it whistle down on my brother. All rules fell into the dust for ever. So that's how it's done. My brother Troilus fell to the ground. Achilles the brute on top of him. I refused to believe it, I believed it at once. I was at odds with myself as so often in the past. If I saw what I think I saw, he strangled my brother as he lay. Something happened that went beyond my conception, beyond the conception of us all. Those who could see saw it the first day: we would lose this war. This time I didn't shriek. Did not go crazy. Went on standing there. Broke the clay goblet in my hand without noticing. The worst was still to come, is still to come. Troilus wearing light armor, had gotten back up again, had wrenched himself free from Achilles' hands, began to run- ye gods, how he could run! Aimlessly at first; then- I signaled, shouted- he found the direction, ran towards me, ran to the temple. Saved. We would lose the war but this brother, who at the moment seemed dearest of them all, was saved. I ran to him, grabbed his arm, drew him into the interior of the temple- his throat rattling, he was collapsing- in front of the god's statue, where he was safe. The repulsed Achilles wheezed after him: I no longer needed to pay him notice. What I needed to do was to unfasten my brother's helmet, loosen his cuirass: he was gasping for air. The old priestess Herophile, whom I saw weep before or since, helped me. My hands flew. He who lives is not lost. Not lost to me either. I will take care of you, Brother, I will love you, get to know you at last. 'Briseis will be happy' I said into his ear. Then Achilles the brute came. The murder came into the temple, which darkened as he stood at the entrance. What did this man want? What was he after, wearing weapons into the temple? Hideous moment: I already knew. Then he laughed. Every hair on my head stood on end and sheer terror came into my brothers eyes. I threw myself over him and was shoved aside as if I wasn't there. In what role was his enemy approaching my brother? As a murder? As a seducer? Could such a thing be- the voluptuousness of the the murder and the lover in one? Was that allowed to exist amongst human beings? The fixed gaze of the victim. The capering approach of the pursuer, whom I now saw from behind, a lewd beast. Who took Troilus by the shoulders, stroked him, handled him-the defenseless boy from whom I, wretched woman, had removed the armor! Laughing, laughing all over. Gripped his neck. Moved to his throat. His plump, stubby-fingered, hairy hand on my brothers throat. Pressing, pressing. I hung on the murders arm, on which veins stood out like cords. My brother's eyes were starting out their sockets. And the gratification in Achilles face. The naked hideous male gratification. If that exists, everything is possible. It was deathly still. I was shaken off, felt nothing. Now the enemy, the monster, raised his sword in full view of Apollo's statue and severed my brother's head from his torso."